


now it's only you that matters

by sweetboybucky



Series: perhaps we only leave so we may once again arrive [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Bucko's only got one arm, Bucky Barnes Feels, Captain America Sam Wilson, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Furniture Shopping, M/M, Moving In Together, Pet Names, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), SO MUCH TEASING, Sassy Bucky Barnes, Sassy Sam Wilson, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Swears, Swearing, Teasing, they're very sappy, two grandpas in love, where everyone is fine and it is all f i n e
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-24
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-10-15 17:41:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17533277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetboybucky/pseuds/sweetboybucky
Summary: “Would be nice to have our own place.”And that makes Steve pause for a moment. Because, if he thinks about, he guesses he can’t really disagree. The Avengers compound has served them well since leaving Wakanda, since the stones and the war and everything else. But it would be nice to have some place that’s theirs, someplace the two of them can call their own.They had it all those years ago, in that tiny apartment they could barely afford. Something close to it came in Wakanda, a hut worn down by time and threaded with fresh memories.But things, life, had gotten in the way of it all. Meetings and appointments and nightmares and the cold weighing the two of them down for so long. The fear gripping their hearts, suffocating them until they were curled against each other. Sated beneath thick blankets.Maybe it’s time.(OR: Steve and Bucky find their way home.)





	now it's only you that matters

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of my new post-IW Stucky series is here! This series of one-shots was inspired by so many amazing Stucky writers here on AO3, and I'm finally following their lead and creating my own. I'm so so excited (if a little nervous) to share this one.   
> I don't have a set upload schedule for this 'verse, but I do have lots of things planned for it, so stay tuned for more Stucky from me in the future! 
> 
> Title taken from "Wild Heart" by Bleachers.

“Steve?” 

Ocean blue blinks against the darkness, that sleepy kind of haze still hanging within his mind. Only lifting slightly at the sound of Bucky’s sleepy voice, the tensing of his body. Steve thought he would be asleep by now, so late after a night spent with the team. 

“Yeah, Buck?” 

Fingers toy with the hem of Steve’s shirt. A spike of anxiety jolts him into something close to consciousness. Steve tilts his head down, tries to get a look at Bucky where his cheek is pressed to his chest and only finding long, dark hair. He pets a hand over the strands, down the smooth line of Bucky’s back. Over his empty left shoulder, where the arm used to be. Steve had been surprised when Bucky decided not to keep it, but it had settled something in the both of them. Lifted a certain weight they carried for so long. 

“What do you think about getting our own place?” The words are traced over Steve’s collarbone, a barely there whisper just before Bucky pushes his head into Steve’s shoulder. 

Surprise laces his features. “I don’t know. Haven’t really thought about it,” Steve says. Because it’s true. He hasn’t. In the grand scheme of things, it hasn’t seemed important. 

Bucky is silent for a long moment, just keeps pushing himself closer to Steve. Steve tightens his grip on Bucky’s waist, tucks him against his side and feels more than hears as he whispers, “Sam keeps eating all of my ice cream.” 

It startles a laugh out of Steve’s chest, soft and low. He kisses Bucky’s hair. 

“To be fair,” Steve counters, “you did eat all of the donuts he brought home from that fancy bakery in DC.” 

“One fucking time.” A harsh breath huffs against Steve’s skin. “And he deserved it.” 

Quiet lingers over them again. Steve is sure he feels Bucky’s breathing even out as he rubs his back, body growing slack against him. Until Bucky whispers again, fingers twitching against Steve’s belly, “Would be nice to have our own place.” 

And that makes Steve pause for a moment. Because, if he thinks about, he guesses he can’t really disagree. The Avengers compound has served them well since leaving Wakanda, since the stones and the war and everything else. But it would be nice to have some place that’s theirs, someplace the two of them can call their own. 

They had it all those years ago, in that tiny apartment they could barely afford. Something close to it came in Wakanda, a hut worn down by time and threaded with fresh memories. 

But things, life, had gotten in the way of it all. Meetings and appointments and nightmares and the cold weighing the two of them down for so long. The fear gripping their hearts, suffocating them until they were curled against each other. Sated beneath thick blankets. 

Maybe it’s time. 

“You think?” Steve asks him.

“Mhmm,” Bucky answers. His voice is so tender, sleepy and sweet in that way that always makes Steve’s chest ache with fondness. He scratches that favorite spot behind Bucky’s ear, smiles as he feels Bucky grin against his chest. 

“Wanna go back to the city?” 

Bucky nods. Parts his lips just enough to say, “Brooklyn.” 

Affection sings through him, thrill and fear and wonder and love - it’s always been love with Bucky - creeping up his spine. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” he whispers, drawing his nose over the shell of Bucky’s ear, pulling him closer. “We’ll go back home.” 

***

The bitter cold of New York gives way to a large, empty apartment settled in the edges of Brooklyn. 

Cautious feet step inside. Tread carefully into the beautiful, open space. Eyes widen, lips part. Surprise bubbles in a world weary chest as he looks it over. Takes it in. 

The kitchen is nestled into the corner of the place, to the right. Lined with marble countertops and dark cabinets, gleaming appliances filling the gaps. Space for a dining room table sits next to it, and what must be the living room lies right in front of him, bare aside from the exposed brick, electric fireplace in the center of the wall and giant windows letting early afternoon sunlight fan against the floor. 

  
A slim hallway hides in the middle of it all. Leads him to the bathroom, first - simple and pretty, with tile floor and a standing glass shower and a medicine cabinet just over the sink - and the bedrooms second. Two are basic in shape, a walk-in closet finding a home on the far wall of each. The third stretches into what must be the master. Spacious and bright and fixed with a  cozy bay window and an ensuite holding a clawfoot bathtub big enough for three people. 

  
Tired, steely eyes trace over the expanse of the place. Catalog each detail. Fingers brush over smooth, crisp white walls and the rough brick of the fireplace once he’s made his way back to the living room. Find Steve talking to the realtor, going over something Bucky can’t bring himself to listen to.    


Instead, he watches the way the sunlight streams in through the windows. Flickers against the floor, shifts with the clouds. Finds flashes of familiar visions tracking through his mind. Of chipped walls. Creaky floors. A door that wouldn’t latch right. Winter cold finding its way through the cracks, a tiny, shivering body underneathmoth-eaten blankets, huddled against him and -

“Buck?”

Steve’s familiar heat draws close. Calloused palm settles on his back. Easing some of the tension away, snapping him out of his haze.

He leans into Steve’s chest. Lets his eyes close. Drops his forehead into that space between his shoulder and neck, warm and safe and calm as Steve questions, “You alright?”

And Bucky’s throat feels sore, hoarse for a reason he isn’t sure of. But he manages to say, “I’m good.” Because he is. Because he wants to be good. To be okay. For Steve, for himself.

Arms coil around him, tuck him against Steve’s body. He watches that sunlight shift against the floor again. Barely hears Steve as he speaks, “What do you think?”

Eyes flick over the space. “I think that kitchen is bigger than our whole apartment was back in the day.”

Laughter falls from Steve’s lips. Brushes against Bucky’s ear. Something tender fills the cracks in his chest with the sound.

“I think you’re right,” Steve answers. Fingers skim the smooth set of his spine, over his shoulders, stroking through his hair. Gentle in that Steve always is with him.

“Bathtub’s pretty big, too.”

“Is it?” Bucky nods. Steve smiles. Bucky wonders how anyone could have turned down that face back in the day, how anyone could ever try to make him forget the creases near those eyes and the slight tick of his mouth. And then Steve is teasing, “Gotta have room for all those bubble baths you take, right?”

Fingers dig into Steve’s side until he’s wincing in his laughter. Gripping Bucky’s hand and pulling it away. Bringing it to his lips and giving one of the knuckles a tiny kiss.

Silence falls on them for a moment. Bucky feels himself relaxing into Steve’s body. Letting himself be held. He wonders, just for a moment, how Steve always does that. Draws the tension from his body so easily. Makes him feel so safe, even after everything. He only hopes he does some of the same for Steve.  

“I like the place a lot,” Bucky tells him. Because he does. Because it’s beautiful. Everything they wanted, everything they were looking for.

Steve looks down at him, runs his fingers through dark hair. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think we should do?”

He lets his gaze trace over Steve’s patient expression for a long moment. Shifts in his arms, the question ringing clear in his mind.

Bucky thinks of the words Steve whispered into the darkness all those weeks ago. Of going home. He isn’t sure where home is anymore, not really. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever truly find it again. But this - this place is a start.

With that thought, he tips his head up enough to brush his lips over Steve’s jaw. Whispers, “Let’s get it,” against his skin. Steve’s grin is so bright, Bucky decides that maybe everything was worth it.

***

As it turns out, moving is a lot more complicated than Steve anticipated.

He can’t quite remember the process of it back in the day, when he and Bucky decided to share an apartment. He guesses it’s because they didn’t have much to move. They were too worried about having an empty fridge until payday.

But now - now there’s so much to consider. What kinds of towels to buy, what color electric mixer they want, the brand of speakers they’re going to get for the TV Bucky insisted they pick out. The details take over, make the weeks pass by in a flash. It’s strange, staying up into the night to look at reviews for bath mats instead of shivering together under the sheets, trying to halt that onslaught of cold settling under their skin.

It’s less than a month after closing on the apartment that Bucky is folding his hand into Steve’s and walking with him into a warehouse furniture store that’s filled with more pieces than Steve thinks the entire population of New York owns.

“What about this one?” Bucky gestures toward a cherry red leather sectional in front of them. Steve isn’t sure when they moved on from the blue suede three seater Bucky was sprawled across only moments ago, but he doesn’t say anything.

The couch in front of them is the fanciest Steve has seen so far. Dense cushions stretch over it, plush and inviting. It’s fit with cupholders in some secret compartment and an outlet on the side, strangely enough. Steve tilts his head at it, tries not to fall over when he sees that it’s priced at six thousand dollars.

“I think it’s, uh -” he cuts himself off, pauses a moment to skim on of the cushions with the tips of his fingers. Feel the material. “Soft.” Another pause, his brows furrowing as he stares at the outlets resting in the side of the piece. “And highly unnecessary.”

Bucky turns to him, eyes narrow, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Why the hell do you need cupholders in a couch?” Steve points to the end table just to the side of them. “There’s a table to put things right there.”

“It’s fancy and functional, Steve,” Bucky argues, corner of his pretty mouth ticking up. Like he’s trying not to smile.

“And the outlet? Can’t people just plug stuff into the wall?”

“I think that part is cool.”

Steve rolls his eyes. But there’s still that familiar fondness rising within him, seeping into the annoyed gesture. “Of course you do. Anyway, it doesn’t match the curtains we bought.”

“Okay, one,” Bucky holds up one finger, grinning, “I think that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve known you for a century, pal. And two,” another finger, Steve rolls his eyes again, “the couch comes in more than one color.”

Groaning, Steve sinks down onto the offensively comfortable, overpriced, completely unnecessary couch and says, “This is exhausting.”

A warm body sits next to him, pushes against his side until he lifts his arm and wraps it around Bucky’s shoulders. And for a few minutes, they’re quiet. Leaning into each other, reclining back into the fancy leather couch. Steve strokes over Bucky’s head, fingers tangling in dark strands. He smiles as he feels Bucky relax into him.

Until that mop of hair is lifting off of his shoulder. Bucky’s body tilts forward enough for his face to come into Steve’s view. Steely gray eyes him seriously for a minute, hand resting on his knee and squeezing, just a little.

“Steve.”

“Yeah?” He can’t stop himself from reaching forward. Stroking Bucky’s cheek.

“I really like the couch,” Bucky tells him, smiling, soft and sweet.

Steve tips his head back. Huffs out a heavy sigh before looking back up at Bucky’s little grin. “You do, huh?”

Bucky nods, leaning in closer. “It’s real comfy. And it’s a  _ smart  _ couch. We have to get it.”

“You just had to fall in love with the most expensive couch in the store, didn’t you?”

A shrug. Fingers pinch Steve’s thigh until he pushes Bucky’s hand away, yelping and chuckling as Bucky smiles at him. He opts for sprawling out instead, pushing his head into Steve’s lap and looking up at him. Like a beautiful vision in Steve’s dreams. “What can I say? I’ve got expensive taste.”

More laughter bubbles up through Steve’s lips. “That go for your taste in men, too?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky answers, face serious, nodding. “You know what my guy costs me?” He curls up closer, grabs Steve’s hand and noses along his palm. Eyes widen a fraction, mouth going dry. “My sanity.”

It punches a harsh laugh from Steve’s chest, low and long. Head tips back, eyes falling shut because  _ God  _ \- Steve is so in love with Bucky it hurts.

Calloused hands pet Bucky’s hair once, twice. Push at him until he’s sitting up, pouting as he does. Steve stands and holds a hand out, affection blooming within him and a smile bright on his face as Bucky slips his palm into his.

“Come on, jerk,” he says fondly, lips pressing to Bucky’s cheek once they start walking. “Let’s go buy your damn smart couch.”

***

Bucky wakes slowly, his mind turning over and settling just before the sting of early morning light against his eyelids makes him peel them open, shift around until he can see the other side of the bed, empty and losing that familiar heat.

The barest hint of a pout settles on his lips when his brain registers that Steve isn’t in the room. Most likely down in the gym with Sam, maybe some of the others. He flops his hand toward the end table on his side, groping for his phone. Groaning when he unlocks it and sees the time. 7:04 am. Too early. But Steve should be back soon, so maybe it’s okay.

He drops his phone to the mattress with a dampened  _ thump  _ and tilts back toward the end table. Grips one of his journals, the one he’s used to document the moving process - Steve always makes fun of him for having different journals for everything, tells him he’s wasting paper. Bucky thinks Steve is undignified for using one tiny notebook to write everything down. But arguing with Steve is kind of a lost cause, so he never says anything - and cracks it open. If he’s up this early, he might as well take a look at those paint samples they got from the hardware store.

They’ve made about a million trips to the new place. Set up furniture and appliances and bookshelf that made Steve swear like a sailor. It’s made the time pass quickly, with so much to do. But the thought of having a place he and Steve can share, like they did so long ago, makes excitement and something like nerves bubble in his heart, strange and heady and overwhelming.

Sheets slide against sleep warm skin, his body tucking back in under the covers. Flesh fingers push against the rough pages of his notebook until the finds the swatches, an array of muted gray stretching out against his hands.

The careful  _ click  _ of the latch on the door sounds a few minutes later, just as Bucky has narrowed the decision down to three options. Tired eyes flick to toward the sound, catching that shock of blond as Steve steps in and closes the door behind him. His face goes all goey when he catches sight of Bucky, smiling in that sweet way he does. Bucky grins back.

“Hey,” Bucky whispers, voice scratchy. “How was the gym?”

Steve grins. Leans down to untie his shoes. “It was good. Got some running in, some weights. Kicked Sam’s ass in a sparring match.” Laughter bubbles in Bucky’s chest. Steve’s eyes light up. “How’d you sleep?”

Bucky peeks his head out as Steve strips off his sweat speckled shirt, dark hair tickling his face as he moves. He pats the empty side of the bed, moves to give Steve room.

“Good.” The words stretches around a yawn. “Was just trying to decide on paint colors. Wanna help?”

“Sure, sweetheart.”

They shift, Steve sitting up against the headboard with Bucky’s head pressed into his thigh. Fingers running through dark hair, subdued shades lying in Bucky’s grip where both of them can see it.

Steve’s eyes flit over the swatches. Reaches down and runs his fingers over the smooth paper. “These are our options?”

Bucky hums. Tips closer to Steve. Watches as his sunshiny smile gets wider, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter. Dark brows furrow, a confused, sleepy noise rising from his throat.

Ocean blue peeks down at him, bright and pretty. “These all look the same, Buck.”

Something strange flares in Bucky’s chest. His gaze flicks between Steve’s face and the swatches. “What do you mean?” He sits up more, takes a closer look at them. “No, they don’t. They’re all different shades.”

“Look pretty close to me.”

“Steven Grant, you are an  _ artist.  _ You of all people should be able to tell the difference between silver lake, eternity and winter solstice.”

“Are you sure the guy didn’t just give you three of the same swatch?”

Anxiety rises in his weary mind. He pushes away from Steve a fraction, dropping the pieces to the sheets and grumbling, “You’re an asshole.”

Steve chuckles, eyes falling shut for a moment. But there’s that tiny, tell tale feeling of ice crawling up Bucky’s spine. Familiar and awful and so unwelcome. So unnecessary in this moment.

Fingers twist into the fabric of his t-shirt, tugging at the hem as Bucky tilts his head down, curls up. He can feel Steve’s eyes on him, can already see that edge of concern drawing into his handsome features in his mind. He feels like an idiot for being so stupid.

But there are fresh nerves sparking through him. Phantom memories of the old, rundown place they first shared. And after all this time, after everything Steve has done for him, he deserves something better. They both do.

A big, warm hand settles in his hair, comforting in the way it strokes over his head. It’s only then that Bucky finally opens his mouth, his eyes still fixed on a crease in the sheets as he whispers, “I just want it to be a nice place for us, you know?”

Steve makes a small noise in his throat. Shifts until he’s lying down, murmurs, “C’mere, baby.” He lifts his arm so Bucky can slide under it, tuck himself against Steve’s chest. Press his nose to the hollow of Steve’s throat, breathe him in and close his eyes.

“It will be nice.” The words are breathed against the top of Bucky’s head, rumbling in Steve’s chest. He strokes a hand down Bucky’s back. Thumbs over his left shoulder. Bucky shivers. “We’ve got your smart couch and the nice TV and that futurist coffee machine -”

“It’s called a keurig, you punk.”

“ _ Futuristic coffee machine _ ,” Steve repeats, dragging rough fingers against Bucky’s side, pulling him closer. Tipping his head up so lips can press to his forehead, the bridge of his nose. “It’ll be nice,” Steve repeats. His eyes are soft as he adds, “As long as you’re there, it’ll be beautiful.”

A choked off little laugh spills from Bucky’s lips. He presses his forehead to Steve’s cheek, let’s his eyes fall shut as he teases, “You’re such a fucking sap.”

“Look who’s talking.” And it’s so easy to hear that fondness in Steve’s tone. To tuck himself into his body, soak in the warmth from the sun and the bed and Steve. Bucky presses a kiss to his collarbone, careful and affectionate.

Steve pulls him closer, noses along his hairline before shifting. Grabbing the swatches where they rest on the mattress and holding them up, pointing to the first one. “Now, I don’t know about you, but this eternity shade is calling my name.”

Bucky snorts. Pokes him in the side. “Pretty sure that one’s silver lake.”

“Fuck. Really?”

“Really,” Bucky answers. His eyes trace over the colors for a moment. Brows furrow, but the corners of his mouth tick up in a tiny smile, amused despite it all. “They do kind of look the same, huh?”

“I sure think so.” Fingers stroke Bucky’s cheek, bright blue replacing neutral gray in his line of sight as Steve looks at him. “Wanna paint the walls purple instead?”

“I would Stevie, really, but I don’t think purple will match our curtains.”

Steve’s bright laughter fills the room, the golden light of it settling sweet in Bucky’s heart.

***

Moving day comes with bright sunlight and a flurry of boxes, items spread across the floor and counters and tables.

A lot is already set up from their countless trips to the new place. A few end tables, the giant dining room table. A bookshelf and a wall mount for the giant TV. Lamps litter the floor of the living room, flicked off while the sun is still so bright in the sky.

It brings those memories back. Moving in with Bucky. Organizing their things side by side, making their first home together, small and cold and dim as it was. It was theirs. And there’s something so thrilling about knowing that he’s giving that back to Bucky now. Giving him a place to feel safe. To feel free of everything the world has thrown at them.

Ocean blue peeks up from the mess of silverware laying against the marble countertop. Flicks to the man of Steve’s century long affections sprawled across his favorite smart couch - the couch Steve will absolutely never admit he loves, even though he does. Curled into the coziest blanket he owns, phone in hand and face still stained with that completely adorable sleepy expression.

Steve beams, voice ringing out across the apartment as he asks, “How you doing over there, sweetheart?”

Bucky makes a little noise, musters up a tiny smile in Steve’s direction before turning back to his phone. Fondness lights through Steve’s chest, so overwhelming and sweet he almost doesn’t hear the door creak open, the smell of fresh coffee filling the room.

He turns his head just as Sam steps in. Surprise laces his features before a bright smile stretches across his cheeks. Sam gives him one in return, holds up a carton with three drink cups nestled in it.

“Caffeine delivery for the moving crew,” he says.

“Hey, Sam.” Steve steps over to him, takes the drinks from his hand and sets them on the counter. Claps Sam on the shoulder. “It’s good to see you. I didn’t know you’d be coming by.”

“I didn’t either,” Bucky yells, still tucked into the crease of the sofa. He rubs at his eye, sends Sam a mock scowl. “Who said you’re allowed in?”

Sam grins. Plucks one drink from the carton and holds it up. “Well hello to you, too, asshole. Guess you don’t want this fancy mocha latte nonfat whatever-the-fuck drink, then.”

Bucky springs up, nearly sprints to the kitchen and sidles in next to Steve, reaching for the drink. “If you don’t give that to me right now I’m calling the police.”

“So they can do what?”

“Arrest you for breaking the law that says I get anything I want.”

“That’s not a law, idiot.”

Laughter bubbles in Steve’s chest. Eyes fall closed, his forehead resting in his palm as he adds, “Oh, it’s a law, pal. Has been since ‘38.” He open his eyes, turns them on Bucky. “Buck is real strict about enforcing it.”

Dark brows draw down. Bucky pushes closer to Steve, twists his fingers in his t-shirt and drops his voice to a low whisper, “I don’t remember you complaining about it, Stevie.”

Sam makes a pained noise. “You two are  _ disgusting _ ,” he tells them, handing the sugared up drink to Bucky and stepping away. Bucky laughs, kisses Steve’s shoulder and walks back to the couch, flopping down and sprawling out again, coffee placed gingerly on the table in front of him. “Anyway, trying not to think of that image,” Sam shakes his head, “anything I can do to help out?”

“Wow, uh - sure. Thanks, man.” Steve’s smile is grateful. “There are a lot of new dishes we need to unpack. Wanna give me a hand with that?”

“Sure thing. Hey, Barnes.” Bucky looks back up from his phone, “You gonna do anything?”

“Can’t.” He waves his single hand, phone and all. “In case you haven’t noticed, Mr. America, I’ve only got one arm.”

“And that one arm can probably lift three hundred pounds.”

“It doesn’t mean I’m going to do it, dick.”

Sam sighs, low and long. Turns back to Steve as he pulls one of the expensive plates Bucky insisted on buying out of the box. “You sure you wanna live that, Steve? Cause I can save you, we’ve still got room at the compound.”

“Thanks for the offer,” Steve laughs. Flits his gaze to Bucky, completely engrossed in whatever is playing on his phone. His face is set in that concentrated little pout, brows pulled together and lips tipped down. Affection settles in Steve’s heart. “But I think I’ll be just fine here.”

Sam’s eyes trace over the space, hands stacking plates and bowls carefully onto the counter. “ _ Damn  _ this place is nice.” Dark eyes turn on Steve. “What are you going to do with all this room to yourselves?”

“Honestly,” Steve sighs, taking a minute to look around. Broad shoulders slump, face settling into a serene sort of expression. “I don’t know.”

“Well, hey, you’re retired now. You deserve a whole lot of space to do a whole lot of nothing.” Steve chuckles, Sam’s laughter joining in with his own. But after a moment, Sam’s face grows softer, serious. He settles a hand on Steve’s shoulder, levels his gaze. “Seriously, Steve, I’m happy for you and Barnes. If anyone’s earned the right to a nice house and some peace, it’s the two of you.”

A warm smile curls at Steve’s lips, a certain kind of light filling his chest. Because yeah, Bucky does deserve some peace. And maybe - maybe he does, too. “Thanks, Sam,” he answers carefully. “And hey, the spare bedroom is yours, whenever you want it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Sam laughs, turning back to the dishes in front of him.

It’s only a few quiet moments later that Bucky is gasping, loud and dramatic. Standing up, letting his blanket slip off of his body as he turns to Steve, phone held tight in his grip. “Steve, we didn’t plan for an accent wall!”

“On second thought,” Sam deadpans, staring at where Bucky frantically scrolls through the site he found about an accent wall - whatever the hell that is. “I might steer clear of this place.”

Steve grins, big and bright, setting back to putting away the dishes. Tucking the memories of the morning into the safest corner of his mind.

***

It rests on the new bookshelf.

Framed with a sleek black wood. Propped up, sitting beneath the pool of evening sun falling through the dark green curtains. Muted, void of color, but beautiful as anything.

Bucky knows the moment Steve sees it, long after Sam has left and things are mostly settled and it’s all starting to feel real. Can hear that little hitch in his breath as shaky fingers stroke against the glass. Grip the frame, lift it closer to his face so he can study it.

A smile lights along Bucky’s lips as he gets up from his place at the couch. Moves behind Steve, tucks his arm around him and presses into his back. He can feel Steve leaning into him as he peeks over his broad shoulders, getting a look at the picture in Steve’s hands.

Steve’s voice is quiet as he starts, “Where did you -”

“Stark pulled some strings,” Bucky cuts him off, squeezing him. One of Steve’s hands falls to Bucky’s. He threads their fingers together, holds onto him.

Sarah Rogers, in all her glory, looks at the two of them, smile as bright as Bucky remembers. Her arms are curled around an impossibly small bundle of blankets, Steve’s little face hidden by the fabric.

Fondness sings through Bucky’s heart, eyes tracing over the image of the woman who loved him like she loved her own, and the beautiful man she raised, thumbing over the glass of her memory.

Steve’s breathing is uneven, wet. But there’s a longing kind of smile on his face, blissful and sad all at once. Bucky presses his lips to Steve’s neck, squeezes him again. “She would’ve had a field day in that kitchen over there.”

It draws a laugh from Steve’s lips, eyes closing, streaks of blond hanging over his forehead as he leans his head down. “More pie than we could ever eat.”

Silence falls over them for a long stretch, Bucky’s chin resting on Steve’s shoulder, Steve leaning the side of his head against Bucky’s hair. He turns, presses his lips into Bucky’s skin and whispers, so quietly Bucky almost can’t hear him, “I wish she could’ve seen this place. Seen us.”

“She’s somewhere beautiful right now, watching,” Bucky tells him. Lips brush against Steve’s ear, soft and sweet. “And she’s so proud of you.”

A heavy breath pulls through full lips. And then Steve is setting the frame down. Turning in Bucky’s arm and curling around him. Kissing every inch of skin he can reach, ducking his face into long, dark hair.

They hold each other until the sun falls below the horizon, night drawing onto a city they’ve known for a century.

***

Light from the TV flickers against them hours later. Smooths across the half of Bucky’s face that’s not smooshed against Steve’s thigh. Pools onto pale skin, a big hand stroking through chestnut hair.

Bucky pushes in closer, curls up further and twines his fingers in the material of the blanket draped over him. Sticks his foot out and taps at one of the takeout boxes resting on the coffee table.

“We used to do this, back in the day.”

Steve sends him a fond smile, realizing belatedly that Bucky can’t see it and not really caring. He traces Bucky’s cheekbone. “We did.”

Eyes peek up at Steve’s face as Bucky shifts to his back, stretching his legs out against the smooth leather beneath him. His expression is sleepy, listless and calm. Steve feels that familiar affection rising in his chest. “Was usually the other way around.”

“Yeah, it was,” Steve agrees. “You always let me lay on you when I was sick.”

“Had to force you,” Bucky amends, pressing his nose to Steve’s belly. Reaching up until he finds Steve’s hand, can hold it to his chest. “You never wanted to sit still. Always said you had something to do even when you were on your deathbed.”

“I was a busy guy.”

“Busy getting punched.”

Steve laughs quietly. Bends down to kiss the side of Bucky’s head. “That’s why I had you, huh? To pull me out of all those alleys.”

“Found you in a trashcan, once.” Steve can hear the way Bucky’s voice is shifting. Feels as Bucky’s body grows pliant against him, sleepy and soft.

“Yeah, you did.” He tucks the blanket higher around Bucky’s shoulders, just beneath his chin. A grin tugs at his lips as Bucky curls into him again, squeezes his fingers.

“Love you.”

Something warm and calm runs through Steve. Tender and peaceful. It’s a stark contrast from everything Steve has grown so used to. All of the sharp edges. The cold in the world. The way darkness always crept back, found its way into his mind.

Now, everything is threaded with that underlying trace of peace. Happiness filling the space in his chest. Steely blue eyes and long, dark hair and a map of pale skin he’s allowed to see again, after so long. To adore so openly.

Lips tick up into a gentle smile. Steve leans down again, whispers a quiet, “I love you, too, baby,” into his ear and just barely catches the pleased grin that gets him before Bucky falls asleep against him.

***

Bucky sits on the island the first morning in the new place, fingers rubbing at tired eyes and skin warming under the sun’s gentle touch. Watching Steve’s muscled back as he makes breakfast at the stove.

His eyes shift around the nearly bare apartment. Over the muted light of early day. Out the window, to the skyline of the city he’s known all his life. The city that’s shifting around them, so different from his hazy memories, but still there. Still the streets he chased that beautiful spark of blonde along.

He smiles - because it’s like all this time, Brooklyn was waiting for them.

Steve’s face comes into view when he turns back. His body settles between Bucky’s legs, hips pushing against the counter as rough palms move up to hold the sides of Bucky’s face.

“Hey,” Steve whispers, pushing in close to kiss Bucky’s cheek. “What’s the smile for?”

Fingers curl around Steve’s wrist, Bucky’s grin growing. Stretching across his face as Steve finds his own impossibly fond expression.

Bucky thinks of what Steve said those short few months ago. Finding home. The fear in his heart that he never would. It still lingers within him, a darkness he can still feel despite the light he’s found in this life. But he thinks he’s got something more important to hold onto, now. And that shade of ocean blue even the worst couldn’t burn out of him - that’s beginning to feel more like home every day.

He tugs Steve closer. Presses his smile to the line of Steve’s jaw. Whispers, “Nothing. I’m just happy,” and really means it.

When Steve leans in for a soft kiss, his grinning mouth pressing sweet to Bucky’s lips, it’s easy as anything to smile and kiss him back.


End file.
